They Named Me Sofia, for the Setting Sun
by J. M. Flowers
Summary: "My parents are doctors. Surgeons, to be exact. Orthopaedic. Paediatric. Plastics." - written entirely from the point of view of Callie & Arizona  and Mark 's fourteen year old daughter, Sofia Robbin Sloan Torres.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Say hello to my baby, the child I have been formulating since the begging of July. I love this story with every piece of me, I've poured myself into rewrite after rewrite, and I'm still working on it. This is just the first chapter, and there's much more to come. Reviews would be so GREATLY appreciated. And thank you, to my tumblr sign, that willed me into doing this. Also, to my beta, my twin, for reading this again and again and again for me. **I hope you all enjoy!  
><strong>

**CHAPTER ONE **

My parents are doctors. Surgeons, to be exact. Orthopaedic. Paediatric. Plastics.

I grew up in the hospital; eating meals in the cafeteria, sleeping in on-call rooms when a sitter couldn't be found, spending afternoons doing homework in OR galleries. I learned to skate, in heelies, in the paediatric ward. I learned about the skeleton, for a science test, staring at an x-ray board in an exam room. I know the linoleum-lined hallways better than I know my own home.

I loved the hospital. Loved waiting in the playroom for my mom to finish her shift. Loved seeing my mami make casts. Loved standing on the catwalk and watching the world. My world of scrubs and stethoscopes, sutures and surgeries. The hospital was where I belonged.

There's a difference, between being somewhere you love, knowing you can leave, and being somewhere you love feeling utterly and completely trapped. Knowing you can't waltz out sliding glass doors and hear that satisfying whoosh as they close behind you, it's painful. It's infuriating.

I never understood, before, when patients went stir crazy; complaining about white walls and clicking shoes and the incessant hospital hum. But it's enough to drive you mad.

And to think, it used to be my favourite song.

* * *

><p>I listen to music, all day. It blocks out some of the thoughts that I don't want to think, instead filling my mind with things I never thought about before. Melodies, harmonies, chords, riffs, bridges. It makes me think about being a musician, someday.<p>

They all bring me music, now, seeing how tired I am of flowers and balloons and cards. They know I'd rather fill my ears than my eyes. So they bring me mixed CDs, adding to the growing pile on my dresser; Jack's Mannequin, Augustana, Ellie Goulding, Mat Kearney, The Fray, anything they think might help me shut out the world.

My mom sneaks me jello from the cafeteria - always strawberry because it's the best flavour they have. We talk about it, and Mami's chicken piccata, and chocolate cake. I haven't got the heart to tell her that, most days, I can't taste it. It's just some red stuff that slides down my throat easily. Something that slides back up just as easily after she's gone.

But I let her keep bringing it, just so we'll have something to talk about. We're too scared to talk about anything else.

* * *

><p>I awake from a fitful dream, drenched in sweat, memories dancing before my eyes. I've become tired of reliving it all. That rainy night. The ER. The hours spent in offices I knew all too well.<p>

"Mami," I whisper, causing the body on the bed next to mine to stir, "I'm scared."

She comes to my side without hesitation, without any signs of sleep delaying her, ultimately giving away her racing thoughts. She wraps herself around me, pulling my blankets taut in a way that finally feels comfortable. Cocooned. She wipes away tears I didn't know I was crying, and pulls our identical eyes into a chocolate-brown gaze.

"I love you," she whispers, cupping my cheek.

All I can do is nod.

* * *

><p>Alex comes into my room in the early hours of the morning, when my mami is snoring softly against my cheek. "Hey, kiddo," he says, as he always does, even though we both know that the more mature one is often me, "How're you feeling?"<p>

"Shitty," is the only answer I can think of, but it makes him laugh when other people would only give me pity.

"You got another treatment today."

I nod, never admitting aloud that I'm doing this. That it's all real.

"What do you want to do after? Get ice cream?"

I shake my head, knowing ice cream doesn't taste as good the second time it passes your tongue. I toy with the idea of asking him to shave my head, but I already know what his answer will be. He's too wrapped around Mom's fingers to give in and go against her, even though he's Alex and I'm Sofia and that says everything. Even though I know I'm really ready. "I want to go home."

He nods sadly, knowing how my mothers fought to have me here. How they rarely go home themselves anymore, instead curling up on the extra bed in my room. I know he can see their exhaustion, too, the pain and fear buried deep within their eyes.

"How about your laptop?" he offers, obviously remembering how attached to it I used to be. But I don't want it. I don't want to go online and see happy faces, the summer I don't get to have.

"Just bring me music," I sigh, turning my head away, "All I want is music."

* * *

><p>"Cory?" I ask needlessly as she strolls into my room, instantly pinning new pictures to my wall. Today she's brought sunsets, bright pink and orange and burning on the skyline.<p>

"Sofia," she retorts, dropping a book onto my lap. Tolstoy. "Who do we hate today?"

"The nurse," I say with a roll of my eyes, "She wouldn't let me watch some terrible movie last night when I couldn't sleep."

"That bitch," Cory proclaims, flopping into the chair next to me.

"How's school?"

"Lame," she answers vaguely, "And stupid. Nothing's changed. How was today? Did you blow chunks?"

I laugh easily, thankful, once again, that my best friend has stayed the same. "Before they even got me the bucket. I aimed for shoes."

"Good job," she says, pride comedically dancing across her features, "Way to keep them _on their toes_."

We fall into our comfortable silence, glancing towards the muted TV, some corny soap filling the picture.

"Shave my head?" I ask, knowing she's the only one who will do it for me, without caring that my mothers are saving the pieces, or that my hair is making my head itch, or that I'm terrified of how I'll look. She'll just do it because I asked.

"Sure."

* * *

><p>The first look in the mirror is startling. My head is paler than I expected, even amidst the tufts of dark hair that are still trying to hold tight. I run my hands over it, savouring the smooth bristling feeling. It's that feeling that knocks away all the fear; I don't look like an alien. I don't look like a sick person. I still look like Sofia, like myself, and that makes it easier to breathe.<p>

"Thank you," I whisper to my best friend as she slips the clippers back into their hiding place.

There's nothing else to be said, no jokes to be made. Instead, a heavy acceptance dances around us, a solid awareness that we're quickly becoming adults. That our childhood is falling out of our grasps.

But I still look like Sofia. We still look like ourselves.

* * *

><p>It started as a weakness. In my fingers, my toes, my body slowly growing numb. Until everything felt heavy. And difficult. And exhausting.<p>

I slept every chance I could, escaping for home when I knew both my mothers were working. When I knew my dad was too distracted to really notice. I slept when I should've been doing homework, slept when I should've been in class, slept when I said I was with friends. Slept away my social life, my grades, everything I once cared about. I closed my eyes and let it all slip away.

And then we fought: Mom yelling about phone calls from teachers, about my lack of effort, about my ignorance of expectations; Mami watching me sadly, unsure of what was happening to her little girl. We fought endlessly, the yelling continuing long after I'd shut myself away in my room. Long after I'd closed my eyes and drifted away.

_ "She's being completely disrespectful! It's like she doesn't even care. She's failing _everything_, Calliope. Every single one of her courses. The teachers say she barely comes to class!"_

_ "Something's wrong, Arizona."_

_ "Oh, you can say that again! She needs to get her priorities straight, get that attitude in check-"_

_ "No, something is _wrong_. This isn't Sofia. The light, the everything... it's all gone. She looks hollow."_

_ "You think I haven't noticed that?"_

_ "Maybe it's a break up?"_

_ "She would've told us that."_

_ "Would she?"_

* * *

><p>I went into their room because it was raining; thick, wet drops smacking against my bedroom window with a vengeance. Making me want nothing more than to crawl into bed with my mothers, have their arms around me until I finally fell asleep.<p>

I stood in their doorway, watching the moonlight illuminate their spooning bodies. My head spun, dizziness overtaking me in a way I had never experienced before.

"Mami?" I cried out, as the room twisted violently, knocking me to the floor. "Mami?" I cried into the blackness.

* * *

><p>I awoke in the emergency room, the one part of the hospital I never ventured to when exploring. "Mami?" I called, scared and confused, hating all the sounds that were surrounding me and making my head pound.<p>

"Sofia, I'm right here," she said softly, lifting our clasped hands for me to see, "It's okay."

But it wasn't okay. I couldn't feel her hand. I couldn't feel anything.

"Mami?" I whimpered, fighting the torrential downpour of tears, "What's happening?"


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: Thank you all so, so much for all the response! You're amazing! I am so endlessly proud of this story - even though it still needs a lot more work - and I'm so thankful to be sharing it and having people actually LIKE it! Amazing! Here's chapter two, exactly a week after my first posting. I'm going to try to keep that up, at least for the first few chapters, so check back next Wednesday for chapter three! xoxo

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER TWO<strong>

No doctor ever wants to say that their child is sick; that something is wrong and they can't fix it. That they can't smooth hair and dry tears until it goes away. That they have to hand over their child - _their child_ - to other doctors, to someone else. That someone else needs to make them better.

"Cancer?" I stuttered, feeling myself begin to shake.

"Leukemia," he nodded, shattering my life with one swift movement.

I shook my head, trying to stop the word from entering. The painful, horrible word. "No," I said, softly at first, my voice getting louder with each repetition, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no -"

My mami grasped my hand as I continued. My mom muttered something to the other doctor about giving us a minute. She knelt before me once he was gone, placing her hands on my cheeks, forcing me into a silence.

"It's okay, Sofia," she said, "We can handle this. We can do this."

"I'm sick," I whispered, the words tasting hard and foreign on my tongue.

Mami's fingers found their way into my hair, stroking calm down my head and into my back. _I'm going to lose all my hair._

"It's okay," Mom repeated, those calm blue eyes sending me into a heat of rage.

"You called me disrespectful," I snapped, watching clouds cross her irises, "I was sick, and you called me disrespectful. You yelled at me." My face distorted with the words, my hands breaking free to form fists.

She reeled back, as though her palms had been burnt by the fire igniting in my cheeks.

"You doubted me," I yelled, rising to my feet, trying to make her feel small.

"Sofia," she said softly, but it didn't stop anything. You can't stop an explosion.

"You, of all people! You're a paediatric surgeon! You see this stuff, every day. I was sick, all this time, and you didn't see it. You were too busy _doubting me!_"

Mami wrapped her arms around me, restraining me, and I finally broke. Sobs rocked through me like the cancer filled my bone marrow. Like the cancerous cells filled my bloodstream. Like the tears that poured down my mom's face.

"Sofia," she whispered one last time. But it felt so good to be mad, it felt so good to yell and scream and be angry. It felt so good to blame somebody.

"Get out!" I yelled, the words catching in my throat, "Please just go."

* * *

><p>I awake from the dream shaking, the horror of another memory rocking me to the core. Turning me inside out. I heave off the side of my bed, knowing nothing will happen because I haven't eaten all day. I sob into the halting movements, not caring how I look, or who I wake, or what needles they shove into my arm to calm me down.<p>

"Momma!" I scream, gagging with the effort, "I want my Momma!"

A nurse bustles in, trying to quiet me, muttering irrelevant information, like it's the middle of the night. I know she's here. She has to be here.

"Momma!" I yell louder, rattling the railings on my bed, feeling my stomach assault itself once more, "Momma!"

I hear the on-call room door slam, the click of feet running in heelies, the panicked assurances that she has this.

"Momma," I sob to the wave of blonde hair that rushes into my room, extending my arms to her, begging her to wrap me up in the comfort of her. "I'm sorry," I cry, "I'm so sorry."

"Hush," she says, climbing into bed with me. She moulds herself around me like she hasn't done in nearly a month, our bodies remembering every curve despite my diminished frame. She presses kisses into my bald head, gently rocking me towards some semblance of calm. To sleep.

"I love you," she whispers.

All I can do is nod.

* * *

><p>"I'm so scared," I mumble into her chest as the sun begins to rise outside my window.<p>

"Me too."

It's chilling to hear, that I'm not alone in my fear. That my parents are just as shaken by the disappearance of my hair, the shallows forming beneath my eyes, the bony ridges left where there was once a curvaceous plane.

"I kind of miss my hair."

"You had the best hair," she agrees, "Thank goodness for your mami's genes."

I laugh at the way the words roll off her tongue, the easy demeanour something I have gravely missed. Only she can turn a conversation so heavy into something so light.

"Tell me about how I was born," I whisper, looking up into her deep blue eyes. Pools. "Not the real version, the one you used to tell me when I was little. The story with the great big boom."

"Well," she begins, hugging my closer, "Once upon a time, there was this _great big boom_..."

* * *

><p>"Arizona," I hear my mami whisper into our embrace. I keep my eyes closed, wanting to hear them talk, but ultimately not having the energy to lift myself from sleep just yet.<p>

"Calliope," she whispers back, the unmistakeable sound of a kiss filling my ears.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

My mom tries to manoeuvre her way out of the bed, but I groan at the change, wrapping my arms tighter around her. I feel my mami's hand stroke my cheek, her light laughter floating through the air. The bed shifts slightly, as the woman I so closely resemble climbs in behind me, her bone-breaking hands rubbing gentle circles into my aching limbs.

"Where are we?" she asks softly, directing the words over my head to her wife. My mom.

"The beach," Mom replies, "And the sand is so hot that it burns your toes."

"But the water is nice and cool. And so very blue."

"And we're eating popsicles. Mine's strawberry."

"Ooh, mine's cherry."

"Sofia's is grape," they say together, giggling away all the weight of my hospital room. Carrying us off to a hot summer day spent by the ocean. Making me escape in a way music never has.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: **I am so sorry for the lateness of this update! It was ready for uploading on Wednesday, but I just didn't have the heart of it. Unfortunately, horribly, the subject matter of this story has become something very close to home and coping with is has been difficult. I can't seem to shake this story, though, so I promise it will be finished - however long it may take.

Thank you all, over and over and over, for the wonderful reviews! The response has been amazing and I am so very grateful. For those of you asking about Mark (and even those rejoicing about his lack of involvement) he does make a brief appearance in this chapter. He will enter again - I promise to keep this as realistic as possible. Thanks a million times over, and I hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER THREE<strong>

I used to play hockey. Every Saturday, I'd traipse down to the arena, this huge bag slung over my shoulder, full of pads and skates and the horrible green jerseys. I hated every minute of it.

But I kept going, because I loved how my parents reacted. Mami would recite facts about bones, bring home x-ray after x-ray of broken legs and ankles and arms. My dad would talk about broken noses, broken jaws, about having to go through that sort of surgery. Mom would just give me this _look_.

Truth is, I loved how it scared them. I loved how they'd get those terrified expressions on their faces, that I could alter their emotions so greatly with just one action. Most of all, I loved that they were there. They sat in the stands every game, every practise they could get to, every moment cheering me on.

They hated it, but they stood back for me. They were brave for _me._

If only we'd known that they were practising for so much more.

* * *

><p>"Morning, Sof," my dad says, strolling into my room in his dark blue scrubs, a coffee already in his hand.<p>

"Too chipper," I groan, covering my face with my hands, "It's too early."

He laughs, poking me gently in the side so I squirm. "Oh, the daylight, how terrible!"

"Oh, ha, ha," I grumble, "Go give somebody boobs or something."

He laughs louder, dropping into the chair beside my bed. "What's new?" he asks, causing a roll of my eyes.

"Well," I begin, the teasing sarcasm dripping from my words, "I think the walls have gotten point zero-zero-zero-one shades darker."

"I thought it looked different in here!" he exclaims.

"Daddy," I sigh.

He smiles, standing up to lean over and kiss my forehead. "Be a Sloan today," he whispers.

It's my turn to laugh, as I watch him leave.

* * *

><p>"Mom?" I call softly as she strolls past my door.<p>

Her blonde head pops in the opening, that familiar dimpled smile making the room a little brighter.

"I have my treatment soon," I choke out, "Will you come with me?" It's a big step, from where we were, talking about jello. Up until this point, Mami's been the only one to go with me. The only one to hold my head as I heave, the only one to press a cold cloth against my neck. She's the only one I've let play the role of mother. But I suddenly want that to change. I want different hands rubbing my back. "Please?"

"Of course," she nods, "Just let me tell some residents what to do and then I'll come get you."

"Mom?" I call one more time, as she tries to leave.

"Yea, Sof?"

"Thank you."

That smile breaks back across her face, lifting the weight of anxiety off my chest, even as she disappears down the hall.

* * *

><p>People always seem to give me this quizzical look when I talk about how awesome it is to grow up with two moms. As if I'm some sort of alien.<p>

But I had an awesome childhood. I had two moms to play princesses with. Two different types of hair to "style", two women to admire, and twenty extra fingernails to paint.

Mom has always been the tougher one, setting limits and enforcing rules. But she's loving in the ways only a mother can be; always willing to snuggle, the first to cheer about anything, the best storyteller, and the person I always want to talk to when I've done something wrong.

Mami is the big hugs, every chance she gets. Being wrapped in her arms is like sunsets and sleeping and swimming pools full of jello. She's the one I cry on, the one I lean on, the one who can make me laugh like nobody else. And on the days when there _is_ nobody else, she's my best friend.

Facing hardships changes people. It's softened my mothers, made them pick up parts of each other that were once out of their grasp. Mami has become a cheerleader, Mom a best friend. They hold me up when I'm falling apart.

They're my everything.

* * *

><p>She rubs my back as my body convulses, forcefully emptying my insides. "It's okay, Sofia," she whispers softly, trying to keep me calm. Crying just makes everything worse.<p>

Mami's hand takes up where hers left off, the switch something I barely notice. "You're okay, Sofia," she soothes, "We're right here."

I heave again, for what I am certain is the last time. I close my eyes and lean back, not having the energy to care about the bitter taste in my mouth. Day three is the worst.

"Drink," Mom instructs, gently pushing a plastic straw between my lips. Cold water coats my throat, relieving some of the burning sensation left behind by stomach acid. Mami presses a cold cloth to my forehead, lifting away the beads of sweat that have formed.

"I'm so tired," I mumble, exhaustion dripping from my voice.

"Go to sleep," Mami whispers, gently stroking my scarf-covered head, "We'll be here when you wake up."

"Promise," Mom adds, before I even have the chance to ask, "We're not going anywhere."

"I love you," I mouth as sleep takes control of my body.

* * *

><p>"She's only fourteen, Arizona."<p>

"I know."

"Fourteen year olds aren't supposed to spend their lives in hospital beds."

"Believe me, _I know_."

"What if we took her home?"

My heart flutters at the possibility, and it takes all of my control to keep my eyes shut so I can just listen.

"She wouldn't be getting monitored twenty-four-seven -"

"I could take the time off, the chief would understand."

"She's not finished all of her treatments yet."

"No, but she will be soon."

"Calliope..."

"What if she dies, Arizona? I don't want her to die in a hospital bed. I don't want her to die -"

I can hear them embrace, the rhythm of arms rubbing backs, the beginnings of tears. I fight back emotions of my own. Distress. Fear. Anger.

I'm not going to die. I'm not going to let myself.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Omg, WHY has it taken me this long to update? Ridiculous. I'm so, so sorry. On the upside, this chapter is pretty long, and one of my favourites! Thank you to everyone who proof read this for me, when my beta couldn't, and thank you to all of YOU who are now reading this. I am eternally grateful. Hope you enjoy!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER FOUR<strong>

"Mami?" I ask before sleep has fully eased off, while my eyes are still shut. I can feel her around me, straightening the stacks of books and CDs on my dresser; feel the shift in the air that only her presence can supply.

"Yes, Sofia," she answers, without the accompaniment of the sounds of shuffling feet. She won't look at me.

"What's wrong?" leaps from my mouth, all prior thought lost in the now-obvious weight of the room. My eyes open, and I can see the fear she's trying to mask as she slowly turns to face me.

"Nothing, Baby," she says with a forceful smile, easing her way to my bedside, "Nothing's wrong."

It's my turn to make everything better. "You're scared," I whisper, not needing an answer, already knowing it's true, "You've been scared since the moment I was born."

She nods, the dark brown of her eyes becoming glassy and wet.

"I know you, Mami. You've spent every minute of my life trying to keep me safe, trying to keep me from being the girl that couldn't." I shudder as my breath hitches, using all my might to keep my own composure in the face of my mother's tears. "I'm not going anywhere, Mami. You raised a fighter."

She pulls me into her warmth, but I know she's really collapsing into _me_. Her kisses cover the silk of the scarf on my head, burning through the fabric. "I love you," she repeats incessantly, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

I smile against her, feeling my face stretch in the way it hasn't in days. "I love you, too, Mami," I whisper into her.

"My little fighter," she says, and I swear I feel her swell with pride.

* * *

><p>I remember the beautiful days, in parks on blankets, with the sun shining and my mothers' hands entwined. I remember dancing in the soft grass, falling asleep with my head in a warm lap, listening to my mothers whisper and laugh and kiss.<p>

"I want to dance in the park," I answer this time when he asks, "I want to go to the park with my moms like we used to, just to spend the afternoon."

He nods, as if contemplating, but I've already been witness to his softer side - he doesn't need to pretend. "We'll see," he says, which I've always known is Alex for 'yes'.

I smile in excitement, relieved by the possibility of being wrapped in the warmth of sunshine. Even if it means checking my blood count, and being coated with sunscreen, and a few days of exhaustion afterwards.

I'd give anything to have a little peace.

* * *

><p>If it's even possible, I rush through my treatment, eager for whatever measly moments of freedom they can give me. I am once again thankful for the career choices of my mothers, and the fact that they benefit me some days.<p>

When the session is complete, I fight off the usual stave of exhaustion, practically running back to my room, knowing Alex will be there with my surprise. My two-woman support team fights to keep up, their laughter and clasped hands a precursor of what I want for the afternoon.

Alex stands by my bed, and the second I see his face, I know.

"No," I whisper, tears already forming in my eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sof -"

"No!" I say a little louder, a little harder.

"Your blood count isn't -"

"No!" I yell, feeling arms wrap around me and tears stream down my face. "No!" I scream, "No, no, no!"

"Sofia," Mom whispers, obviously trying to calm me. But I don't want to be calm; this isn't fair.

I wrench myself out of my mothers' grasp, throwing myself at Alex with all the fury of my fists. "You said 'we'll see'," I sob, "You said I could go outside!"

He stands stoically, taking my beating against his chest like a drum.

"I want to go outside! I want out of this stupid room! I want to go home!" I holler in my final breath, before collapsing into him. He wraps his arms around me in a way only Alex ever does, the way only my favourite person ever can.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

And I have to believe him.

* * *

><p>I spend the rest of the day in bed, mourning my loss by staring at the wall. I deny all efforts to console me, shrugging away every loving touch. I don't want to pretend it's all okay. I don't want to smile and laugh and act like nothing is terribly, horribly wrong. Today, I just want to cry about it.<p>

Eventually, my mothers give up and leave me in my silence, muttering information I don't care about, like that they'll be in the cafeteria if I need them. But I won't, need them; I won't need anything.

Alex comes in as the blue sky outside my window is giving way to dusk, the murky darkness having no effect on my fluorescent-lit room. "Seriously?" he says.

I don't answer. I don't care to.

"You're being a brat, Sofia."

"No I'm not," I mumble, never tearing my eyes from the boring white walls. I think they have gotten darker.

"No, you're right," he admits, "You're being a little bitch."

I turn slightly, the first time all day that anything else has grabbed my attention. But in this case, I suppose it's been yanked.

"Yea, you're being a little bitch, Sofia."

I open my mouth to protest, but he continues.

"So you have cancer. Suck it up."

"But I wanted to go outside," I whine, sounding more like a child than I ever have.

"Tough," Alex scoffs, "Your doctor said you couldn't. Guess what? Maybe you'll get to go tomorrow, or the day after that."

"I don't want to go on the third-"

He cuts me off, "Well, you have a choice. You have a choice, Sofia, because you're not dying. This is not the end of the world. You're going to get better, and then you can go to the park whenever the fuck you want."

We fall silent.

"You can't say fuck in the Paediatrics ward," I whisper, not wanting to admit that he's right, but telling him in my own way.

"Oh, whatever," he mutters, the scolding tone still in his voice, "Just get your ass out of bed and go find your moms."

"You can't say ass, either!" I call after his retreating form.

* * *

><p>My mom's face lights up the second I walk into the cafeteria and I watch as she tries to hide her excitement, tapping Mami's arm lightly. She regains control of her face, her dimples becoming shallow as I approach. "Sofia," she says softly, all focus of the table suddenly directed at me.<p>

I let my gaze drift from blue eyes to brown, choosing to climb into Mami's lap. I wrap my arms around her middle, setting my head on her chest in such a way that allows me to stare at Mom. Familiar hands lazily wrap around me and a chin is set on top of my head.

"I love you," pink lips mouth, the hands of the woman they belong to reaching up to stroke my own paled cheek.

I smile as I close my eyes, letting the soundtrack of this evening begin. The banter is the melody, laughter its harmony. My mami's heart plays the beat.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"And this is called a nurses' station," she announced proudly, "Do you remember what a nurse does?"

I nodded emphatically, clutching her chest tightly. "Take care of pay-sense when you busy."

"They take care of patients when the doctors are busy," she repeated, "That's right, Sof, good job."

I beamed brightly, burrowing my tiny face into her neck. It smelled of vanilla, thanks to an earlier baking attempt.

"Hi, baby girl," Momma kissed into my shoulders, startling me and making me laugh. "Good afternoon," she smiled to Mami, carefully lifting me out of her arms. I snuggled into the new body, feeling soft kisses sweep across my curl-covered head.

"Let's go home," Mami whispered, snaking her arm around Momma's waist and leading her towards the elevator.

"I've gotta change," Momma said as I played with the monkey on her lab coat, trying to create the sound effect in my throat. "Why does she smell like vanilla?"

Mami blushed. "We both do, we had a bit of a baking fiasco."

"Did you bake today?" Momma exclaimed, the question directed at me.

I lifted my head and nodded, looking up at her. "Cookies. And we didn't use a box."

Mami stifled a laugh as she opened the door to the doctor's lounge, warranting a look from Momma. "I swear I didn't tell her to say that," she said, raising her arms in a show of innocence.

She set me on the wooden bench, instantly causing a protest to escape my lips. "Momma," I cried, reaching for her.

"You're fine," they said in unison, Mami taking a seat next to me as Momma pulled scrubs from her body.

"Me, too?" I asked, looking towards Mami with a tug of my shirt.

"Keep your clothes on," she said with a smile, removing my grasp on the pink fabric.

"Yes," Momma added, her head popping through the hole of a purple tank, "Your clothes stay on in the hospital."

"Unless you're in an on-call room..." Mami whispered, causing Momma to gasp and smack her playfully.

"Calliope," she scolded.

I leapt from the bench, deciding we were all ready to leave. "Let's go home," I announced, making a beeline for the closed door.

"Yes, let's."

* * *

><p>I awake from the dream smiling, thankful to now be reliving happier times, in whatever warped fashion they come to me. I open my eyes to see my mom curled up on the other bed, watching me.<p>

"Hi," I say sleepily.

"What were you dreaming about?" she asks, a smile to match my own creeping onto her face.

I stretch slowly before falling back into my original position, my hands pressed together beneath my cheek. "Coming to the hospital with you and Mami when I was younger."

"So basically your whole childhood?" she says and we laugh for a moment, before drifting into a comfortable silence.

"Do you remember that day Mami and I made cookies and I ended up shaking the open bottle of vanilla extract?" I ask softly.

She nods, her dimples deepening in her cheeks. "You smelled like vanilla for a week."

"I dreamt about that day, coming to pick you up from the hospital."

She nods again, verifying that what I remember is true. "You were about three when that happened, Sofia."

"And already making cracks about your kitchen abilities," I snort.

"You remember that?" she asks, making me nod. "Yea, that day you told me you made cookies without using a box."

We make eye contact for a moment before bursting into a fit of giggles.

"What are you laughing at?" Mami questions as she wanders into the room, but it only makes us laugh harder.

"They - weren't - from a box!" Mom manages to say while gasping for air, deepening our fit.

"You're crazy," Mami announces with a roll of her eyes, trying to fight a smile as she leaves the room.

"They weren't from a box!" I yell and we laugh even harder.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Another chapter! Just a short one that, admittedly, doesn't really sit well with me. Oh well. In other news, I've started writing an alternate for this story, from Callie and Arizona's point of views. I wanted to see what else was going on, and I think some of you might enjoy to see that, too. The first two chapters are in the works right now, but I plan on beginning to post that this week. So, if you're interested, keep your eyes peeled, or put me on Author Alert at least for a little bit. Much love, and hope you enjoy.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: **Sorry I'm so ridiculously unpredictable with my updates! I know you probably all really hate it, but I personally love the surprise of finding some of my favourite stories have a new chapter. If that frustrates you, I greatly apologize. I have the rest of the story written (this part, anyways), I just like to read it over and over as many times as possible. Remember kids, editing is your friend! I'd like to have it all posted by the end of the year, so enjoy this chapter with the knowledge that a settling is in sight.

And to my first anon hater, I wrote about your comment; .com/post/11953504587/i-woke-up-to-find-my-first-ever-ff-net-hate Thank you for putting me in a place to really look at myself and my commitments and my own emotions. It was very enlightening.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER SIX<strong>

We spend the next few days laughing, telling stories that I chalk away in my memory in the hopes that I'll dream about them later. I'm still sick occasionally, but it's not as bad as it was, and all the happiness that fills my room makes it easier to carry on. Mami is at my side the most, but Mom joins us every free chance she gets, tossing in funny stories about Mami that I've never heard.

We laugh about potty training, first dates, the strange things we've all said. We begin calling me crack baby as a joke, falling into fits of hysterics every time someone overhears and gives us a confused look.

It's the best few days I've had since I was admitted, flawlessly lifting my mood into the clouds. My body seems to be following suit on day four when Alex strolls into my room.

"Go to the park," he says, trying to keep a smile from overtaking his face.

"What?" I ask, turning my attention from the hearts Mami is drawing on my hand.

"Go to the park," he repeats, "Your blood count is up."

I am speechless, looking to Mami in my shock to make sure what I'm hearing is true.

"You sure?" She never sways from her role of over-protective mother.

"Yep, it's almost balanced," he nods, finally smiling, "Whatever you're doing, keep doing it."

"We're going to the park!" I cheer, jumping on my bed as Alex leaves. I launch myself into Mami's open arms, laughing as she spins me around. "We're going to the park!"

* * *

><p>The air smells exactly as I remember it, except it seems fresher, clearer. There's no smell of the hospital, just the smell of grass and trees and Spring.<p>

I bounce between my mothers, all of my excitement visible in the flounce of every step.

"Yea, she's yours," Mami says proudly, looking past me to make eye contact with her wife, who beams back just as proudly.

She takes my hand and together we skip along ahead of Mami, making the statement more and more true; I am Mom's. She is mine. We're alike.

Our spot is beside a pond and I squeal with delight when I see ducklings by the shore. They didn't yet exist last time I was here and it's an eerily refreshing knowledge of the passage of time.

Mami grabs my hand and twirls me into her arms for a hug. We sway slightly, watching the ducks and Mom laying out the blanket. Somewhere between Alex giving us permission and me slipping into my nicest pair of pyjamas, they managed to pack a lunch. I don't care much for eating lately, but the possibility of something that's not hospital food excites me to no end.

Mami presses her forehead into my back, supplying warmth I don't want to admit I need.

"Did you bring an extra blanket?" I ask Mom as she approaches us, giving in to my better judgement.

"Are you cold?" they say at the same time, the surprise most evident in the voice behind me. Mom knows this stuff.

"A little," I admit, easing them towards the plaid-covered spot on the ground, trying to ignore the fact that I'm fully clothed. For the first time, I'm painstakingly aware of how small I've gotten.

Mom throws a pink blanket over my shoulders, one I recognize from our living room at home.

"What colour's our living room?" I ask once we're settled on the blanket, Mami allowing me to use her as something to lean against.

"Blue," Mom says, eyeing my suspiciously, "Why? Are you having memory loss?"

I roll my eyes, silently telling her to stop being such a doctor. "I haven't been home in months. I'm just having trouble picturing it."

I know they share a look over my head, but I close my eyes, tired from the walk.

"Go to sleep," Mami whispers. So I do.

* * *

><p>I can see them, dancing slowly, their arms wrapped around each other. I know instantly that I'm invisible to them, but that really doesn't make me very different from everyone else around them.<p>

"Can't we just slip away?" Mami pleads, her dark eyes resembling those of a puppy dog, an expression I've never seen her use before. "No one will notice."

"It's our wedding, Calliope," Mom scolds, furrowing her brow, "People will notice."

"But, Sofia..." Mami pouts, startling me with the use of my name.

"Will be there when we get home. And she'll cry at three A.M., just like always, and I'll let you go and get her."

Mami laughs, "How kind of you."

"Oh it is, believe me," Mom says with a mischievous grin, "You'll need a break from what I'll be doing to you."

Ew.

They kiss, each pushing deeper into it and making me _need_ to turn away. Thankfully, my subconscious slips into overdrive, transporting me to our apartment.

There's a toddler version of myself dancing around the coffee table, singing about cookies and scrub 'hats'. A six year old me appears at the front door, decked out in the mandatory princess Halloween costume. Mami leans down to adjust a teetering crown, kissing princess nose while she's at it. "I love you, Sofia-bia."

"I love you, Mami-bami," little me says.

Seven year old me, complete with bangs and missing front teeth, takes a seat at the counter, pushing raisins through the gap in her mouth. Mom presses a kiss to her head on her way past. "Bye, Momma," little me calls.

This carries on through the rest of my childhood. I stand watch as doors slam and breakfasts are served and tears are dried. It's only as it all begins to fade away that I realize this may be what they mean when they say your life flashes before your eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

"Oh, Sofia, you look so beautiful," she exclaimed, taking my hand to give me a twirl.

"Thank you, Mami," I smiled, dipping my head in appreciation and causing the white veil to slide forward. Mom groaned, instantly reaching forward to fix it.

"I just can't get it to stay in place."

"Here," Mami offered, taking the pins from her wife's finger's, "Let me try."

"It's okay, Momma," I consoled, my ten year old lilt forcing a smile onto her face, "I still look pretty with or without the veil, right?"

"Absolutely," they answered simultaneously, as they often did, only Mom continuing after that key word; "You make a beautiful bride, Sofia. Someday, you're going to make someone very happy."

"Anyone I want, right?"

It was Mami's turn to smile, as she stepped away from me to examine her handiwork. "Anyone."

"Will you be there, Momma?" I asked softly, "To walk me down the aisle?"

They exchanged a look, and even then I knew they were trying to figure out how to answer that without messing with the lines of their three parent system.

"I know it's a Daddy's job," I said, "But Mami and Daddy already made me alive. I want you to make me walk into my forever."

* * *

><p>They've always treated me as an adult. They've always been honest, always told me the truth, always let me make my own decisions where I could. They raised me to be strong and independent, unneeding of someone else to hold me up. They prepared me for the worst, so that I can always be my best.<p>

"Tell me the truth," I scold, a week after our wonderful park adventure, "Don't lie to me."

Mom squirms under my unwavering gaze, obviously trying with all her might to not give in.

"Do you have a three of hearts?" I repeat, narrowing my eyes at her, "Don't lie."

"Yes," she relents, passing me the card sadly. "I so could've won!"

"Yea right," I laugh, gathering the deck so it can be shuffled, "You say that every time, and you never do."

The sound of Mami approaching halts our conversation, the beginnings of anger evident in the annunciation of her words. "Do not, Mark. Don't you _dare_."

It's rare, to hear my mami and dad fight and so I instantly flinch at the idea. Mom reaches over and takes my hand, knowing that the physical connection will keep me calmer once the show begins in my room.

She enters in a whirlwind, muttering Spanish that I don't wish to translate under her breath. Dad follows, Alex behind him. A train of my people, pulling into the station to blow their steam.

"She's ready to go home, Mark. Don't you dare try to tell me that I can't take _my_ daughter back to _her_ home."

"She's not ready, Callie!" Dad bellows, "She has _leukemia! _Just because Karev says she'll probably be fine doesn't mean she will! She's _sick!_"

They speak as though I'm not even there, tossing words back and forth as though they're as light as pebbles. But all I see are bricks, hammers, cannons.

"Blondie didn't even figure it out before," Dad continues, "You're so wrong if you think I'm going to trust her in your hands with _Blondie_ as your back up."

"Stop!" I scream, "Stop it! Stop fighting! Stop making the decision for me! Stop calling Mom _Blondie _and stop speaking Spanish and stop acting like I don't exist!"

The room falls silent, even though Mami's brow is still trying to connect with her nose, and Dad's face is burning crimson, and the weight of a million unspoken words are sitting on Mom's shoulders. I look to Alex, wanting him to take centre stage, telling him with only my eyes.

"Sofia," he begins, stepping into the middle of the battle ground like my own personal warrior, "What would you like to happen?"

"I'd like you to tell me the truth," I whisper, the repetition of what was a happier phrase just minutes ago not lost on me, "Don't lie."

* * *

><p>"Purple or pink, Sofia?" she asked, holding up the two shirts for me to choose from.<p>

I scrunched my face, analysing the options before hopping off of their bed. "Dark blue," I said with a finality, trying to yank the top from its hanger in their closet, "You look pretty in dark blue."

Mami laughed, scooping me up so Mom could retrieve the final piece of her outfit. "You're right, Sof, she does look pretty in dark blue," she whispered into my hair, ending the sentence with a smacking kiss.

I pulled away from her lips, "No, Mami, you kiss Momma tonight."

"Oh?" she responded, "And why's that?"

"Date night," I said with a roll of my eyes, "You can kiss me when we're a family again. Tonight you're a couple."

Mom laughed, wrapping herself around us in a hug. "We're always a family, Sofia - always."

I grabbed their chins, pushing their faces together. "Kiss."

They easily complied, joining themselves above my head.

"You need to be a couple, too."

* * *

><p>I sit in the silence of my room, thinking. The conversation replays in my head.<p>

_ "We're done with your chemotherapy, for now, Sofia. We've done the bone marrow transplant. At this point, we just wait to see what happens. We don't know if you're going to get better. It's a long road ahead of you, either way."_

_ "How?" _

_ "There'll be post traumatic stress, possible depression and anxiety, effects of the treatment. Any sort of infection could be deadly."_

Mom had trembled at that word, the one thing they'd never actually discussed with me; death.

_ "And if I go home?"_

_ "You'll need to be even more careful than you've been. You're probably going to feel better, nothing is going to seem as bad as this has, but your quality of life has been greatly diminished. The cancer could return, within a year."_

I shudder at the memory, the possibility that I may never be healthy again. That I may never be free again. There could be years more of chemotherapy, radiation, transplants, surgeries. I could spend the rest of my life in hospitals.

_"I need you all to leave," I'd whispered, ignoring their protests, "I need to think about this on my own. This needs to be my decision."_

But I already knew my answer, even then. It's a no brainer, really.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Aww, I love all the fearful reviews about Sofia dying! She's such a lovely character, I'm glad you're all falling for her as much as I have. I promise not to kill her... yet? BUAHAHAH


	8. Chapter 8

**AN:** Oh lord oh my, this update is short! I'm effetually sorry for that, my little loves. Someone commented on the length of my updates on the last chapter, so I promise I'm working on that with the chapters I'm writing for part two - they're all at least three pages (whereas this is only one and a half). That being said, there is only ONE more chapter of _this_ part of the story. I'm already on chapter 12, however, of the second part. I can't wait for you all to read where this is going!

Thank you again for all the marvelous reviews I love reading, and the story alerts, and the author alerts, and everything else I've been getting emailed about. You light up my days. :) I promise to post chapter nine - my favourite chapter so far - very, very soon.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER EIGHT<strong>

"What would you do?" I ask when Alex comes in to check my chart. I know he just does that for show, as an excuse to come see me – interns and residents come and go, too.

"It's not my choice," he says, becoming distracted by the buttons on my heart rate monitor.

I roll my eyes at this 'new' technique. "Leukemia, Alex, not a heart murmur. Answer the question."

He tries to hide the smirk that creeps onto his face but I still catch it. "I would really think about it, kiddo. And not make your decision based on who's on each team. Go with your gut."

"I wanted to go home, the moment I heard them fighting about it. The hospital, it's always been where I'm most comfortable... but I want some peace. I want to be with my parents without wires and nurses and pagers. I want the quiet of home."

* * *

><p>They all fought to be included, sneaking into the room one by one; Dad first, Mami just an hour later, Mom being the most diplomatic and holding out for almost three. They're predictable on that front.<p>

"Sof," Dad began as soon as his feet were in the door, "You can't go home yet."

"Why not?" I complied, giving him an opening for his argument, though it wasn't one I wanted to hear.

"Karev can't even tell if you're in remission yet, okay? We don't know if you're better, and I don't want anything to happen to you. You're safer here, in the hands of all these doctors."

"You're just scared," I whispered, offering him my hand, taking cues from my momma, "You're scared and that's okay."

He stepped forward, gently pulling me into a hug, softer than any I've ever had. "I can't lose you, Sof, I can't lose you."

I could tell without even looking that he was crying, something I hadn't seen him do since this whole ordeal started. I counted off the firsts in my head; the first tears, the first hug, the first I love you. He'd held off for each of them, but suddenly I felt so aware that it didn't mean he wasn't terrified. He was always caring, he just wasn't showing.

"I'd rather die at home in my bed, after a lifetime of pain, than die in a hospital bed after a lifetime of laughter. Please, Daddy, I need to go home. I want to go home." I'd whispered the words, because even though they were the truth, they were painful. They were awful.

He nodded as he pulled away, running a soft, surgeon hand down my cheek.

* * *

><p>The pounding headache, the one that sets my skull on fire, returns as they're loading the car with my things. I write it off as a result of being overwhelmed - having all of my parents in my room talking and laughing, the discharge papers, the very idea that I'm going home - and so I don't say a word.<p>

"That's everything!" Mom announces as they parade back into the constraints of the four white walls I have called my home for the past year.

I look around, because it does look decidedly empty, and suddenly I'm not sure what to feel. Remorse? Sorrow? Should I feel as changed as all of this looks?

"Let's go home!" Mami cheers, moving towards me. Mom moving towards me. Dad moving towards me. Alex moving towards me.

It's too much.

"Stop," I say with as much force as my pounding head can take, "Please stop. I just... I need a minute."

Dad's the first one to step forward, pulling me into a bone crushing hug that, astonishingly, makes me feel secure. And grounded. Safe. "Be a Sloan," he whispers so only I can hear, "You can do this."

I nod carefully, trying not to juggle my brains. He lets me go, stepping aside so I can run to my mothers, just like he always has. But I surprise us both; I take his hand.

Together, we lead the way to the front lobby: down the hallway, into the elevator, across the catwalk and down a flight of stairs. It's the quietest they've been all day - silent.

I'm going home.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN:** After over a month without my computer, it is finally back in my position in beautiful working order. Sorry for the prolonged absence - this time it wasn't intentional. And if you were ever interested in the alternate view of this story, I just posted two chapters of it in my short story collection "In a Hopeless Place." Thanks for sticking by me, lovelies!

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER NINE<strong>

It's not quite like I remember, and yet not a single thing has changed. The walls are still as sky blue as the stuffed bunny I used to hold up against them, trying to make him disappear. There are still two coffee mugs sitting forgotten on the counter, clean but eternally unreturned to their proper place. The smell of Mami's perfume is heavy in the air.

I take the habitual steps towards my bedroom, the longstanding loneliness of my absence seeping out from beneath the closed door. I turn the cool handle, feel the click as the latch is released, and then I let go. Because maybe I'm not ready. Maybe the walls won't be the red that Mami loved, maybe my bed won't be made to Mom's standards, maybe my spelling bee trophy won't be sitting crooked on my shelf. I can see the pictures above my desk in my mind: Cory and I laughing on a fourth grade field trip to the zoo; my mothers standing beneath the Eiffel Tower, my favourite teddy bear poised between them; a much younger version of myself sitting atop my father's shoulders. It couldn't possibly live up to my memories. It can't possibly still be the room that was once my sanctuary.

I step away from the door, feeling my mothers' eyes follow me on my path towards the couch.

"You're not going to climb into bed?" Mom asks.

I shake my head no, grasping for jokes to lighten the mood, "I've spent enough time in bed." I sit lightly on the edge of the couch, not yet ready to feel comfortable here again.

"Welcome home, Sofia," Mami whispers, easing herself down next to me.

"Welcome home."

* * *

><p>"Why are you scared?" Mom asks across the island, forcing me to lift my focus from the book I'm barely reading.<p>

"What?"

"Why are you scared to go into your room? You've been home for three days, and you've only been in the living room, the kitchen, and the bathroom."

"That's three whole rooms, Mom; one for each day," I answer sarcastically.

"Two of them are mandatory for survival," she quickly retorts, cocking her eyebrows at me in her silent way of proving her seriousness.

"I'm not scared," I whisper, averting my eyes again.

"Then what are you?"

"Reading, I'm reading," I mutter, trying to make the conversation disappear.

She huffs in response, stalking across the apartment to throw open my bedroom door. "Oh look," she says loudly, "Sofia's room!"

"Fine!" I bellow, "I am _scared_. It has been a year since I was last in there. For a whole year, the hospital was my home. The last time I was in there, I was sick, and fourteen years old, and a whole different person. It's not the same room anymore!"

Mom closes the distance between us, pulling me into a hug. The tears escape silently, burning anger into my flesh.

"This is supposed to be the easy part," I whisper into her shoulder, "Why is it so hard?"

* * *

><p>Mami arrives home from grocery shopping with a fistful of paint chips. "Pick a colour," she orders, tossing them onto the island in front of me.<p>

It's like a rainbow, stretching from yellow to red and even into browns. My senses swim into them, trying to settle on just one. Navy blue like Mami's favourite nail polish? Pink like Mom's prized lipstick? The green of my heelies' shoe laces? The grey that blankets my father's head?

"Orange," I whisper, picking up the chip marked deep canyon.

"Okay," Mami answers, putting cereal boxes in the cupboard, "I'll go get it tomorrow."

* * *

><p>Mami and Dad embark on the project as a team, the smell of paint filling our comfortably cozy living quarters as Mom and I sit on the couch watching old movies. There's banging and laughter and several times one or both of them emerges with orange marks smeared across various parts of their bodies.<p>

I don't go and see it, even though Mom suggests several times that I should. I call Cory instead, asking for her input on the colour of curtains.

_"Don't get black, it'd be too much like living in the middle of Halloween."_

_ "And definitely not green. Gag me."_

_ "Brown?"_

_ "God, no, that's the A&W colours."_

We settle on white, imagining the simplistic choice being something that will grow older with us. Leaving the weight of life expectancy far from our conversation.

She comes over with Ikea catalogues that we dissect for hours, picking photo frames and bed sheets and new shelves to adorn my walls. There's nothing Mom says no to, much to my dismay, but much to Cory's delight.

* * *

><p>Within the week, it's finished. The smell of paint has been forced out open windows, Ikea boxes have been tossed at Dad to take down to the dumpster, everything that was replaced has been sent to his apartment for safe keeping.<p>

I stand, trembling, in the threshold of my bedroom, cursing myself for letting this, _this part_, be so hard. I've lived through a bone marrow transplant, chemotherapy, emergency surgeries - this is the part that should be easy. Living should be easy.

"Why'd you choose orange?" Mom asks as she takes my hand, clearly trying to distract me from the task I'm not yet able to complete.

"It's a piece of sunshine. First thing in the morning, and the last few minutes before nightfall, there's orange. It makes me think of the pictures Cory used to bring me, when I was first admitted. We used to stare at them and she'd whisper, 'You can be a sunrise, or you can be a sunset, Sofia. Either way, you're a new beginning.' My room needed to be a new beginning, too."

Mom kisses the side of my head gently, smiling as the peach fuzz on my scalp tickles her lips. "New beginnings," she whispers.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN:** Yep, I'm awful and you're all allowed to hate me. Life has been so crazy hectic, and this story really did get brushed to the side in a heat of writer's block. Luckily for you, my writing buddy/kitten Abra had to have surgery yesterday, so I've spent the entirety of the day in my office with her as she sleeps off the drugs that still haven't passed through her teeny-tiny system, and decided to mix my attention between her, episodes of Cougar Town, and this story.

That being said, this begins the second part of the story, the aftermath of her situation. Watching people going through cancer is awful, but the hardest part for me has always been seeing them try to come back from it. It changes you drastically.

You can tell me off about my lack of scheduled attention to this story by hitting the review button down at the bottom!

* * *

><p><strong>PART TWO<strong>

**CHAPTER TEN**

I stare at myself in the small circle I've wiped in the fogged bathroom mirror, thankful for the blurred frame that hides my still slim body. In this moment, I am just a face; just short, cropped hair atop darkening skin. I let my fingers trace through the spikes that naturally appear on my head, the remnants of my shower cooling my palm.

_"It's coming in red," I had squealed, bouncing into my mothers' room, "My hair is coming in red!"_

Even after a month, the colour still seems strange to me. It's a refreshing change and, yet, it feels as though my past is trying to haunt me. I can't help but imagine that the colour of my bedroom _before_ is trying to push its way out of my skull _now. _Of course, it's not the red the walls were, just a slight tint in what will always be brown, but the idea stays the same in my head - horribly sordid.

"Sofia?" Mami calls, "Come on, your breakfast is getting cold!"

Breakfast signals the beginning of the day, the final act we share before shepherding ourselves out the front door. Mom will go save little children, Mami will fix bones, and I will walk the hallways of my school for the first time since my diagnosis. I will travel through crowds of students, people who were once peers and who are now significantly ahead of me in their class completion. I will sit amongst kids younger than me, trying to decipher math equations I should've already learned and reading books I should've already reshelved. This is unlike anything I've ever had to do before.

I gag over the bathroom sink, the anxiety that has been looming over my head for the past week coming to life within my stomach. I don't want to do this. I don't want to be sick. I don't want to go to school. I don't want to eat breakfast with my mothers and pretend like everything is alright. Bile stings at the back of my throat, propelling me towards the toilet. I lift the lid just in time to spill my guts.

"Sofia?" Mami asks worriedly, throwing open the bathroom door, "Are you alright?"

"Please don't make me do this," I cry, "Please."

* * *

><p>"I'm going to school!" I squealed, dancing around the confines of our apartment, "I am five years old and that means I'm going to kindergarten today!" I whooped with delight, grabbing onto the strings of the helium balloons that clung to the ceiling, forming a rainbow trail behind me.<p>

"Sofia..." Mami tried to coax, setting a freshly iced birthday cake on the counter.

"I'm five!" I yelled again, "And I'm going to go read books and write my name and make friends and have recess and two plus two is four and -"

"Sofia," Momma attempted, "Come sit at the counter with me."

I complied, setting the balloons free so I could climb onto one of the high stools. "Is there snack time at kindergarten? Will I get to paint? Do they have blocks like at day care?"

"Slow down," Mami reprimanded, covering the cake so it could be set aside for after dinner.

"Sorry, Mami," I answered carefully, not truly taking in the weight on their faces. "I hope Daddy got me a backpack for my birthday so I can put my crayons in it. And Bunny. Bunny can I come to school, right?" I looked towards Momma expectantly.

"Sofia," she began softly, "I know we said you could go to kindergarten when you turned five -"

"And I'm five today!" I hollered, "One, two, three, four, _five_."

"But it's May, Sofia," Mami continued, speaking a little louder than Momma, making it a little more difficult for me to interrupt, "Kindergarten doesn't start until September."

"No," I answered quickly, "You said when I was five. I'm five now, I want to go to kindergarten."

"I'm sorry, Sofia," Momma whispered, stroking back my mane of dark curls.

"No," I whimpered, tears welling in my eyes, "I want to go to kindergarten."

"I know, baby," Mami sighed, rounding the island to wrap me in a hug.

"You lied," I sobbed into her chest, feeling Momma's hands stroking my back, "You said when I was five I could go." For months I had been envisioning the classroom walls, all the friends I would make, how smart I would be once I could go to school. I wanted to be a doctor, a teacher, someone who lived on the ocean floor. They had promised me that I could go to school when I turned five, just like they had (for _years on end_, as Mami had muttered under her breath).

Kisses pressed into my temple, belonging to both pink and crimson lips. "I'm sorry, baby girl," Momma whispered, making me cry even harder.

"I don't want to be five anymore," I hiccupped, "I want to be September."

* * *

><p>"Sofia," Mami singsonged within the confines of the television screen. Toys littered the floor around her; blocks with letters, a walk 'n ride, a million different things bought surely for developmental purposes.<p>

"Momma," an infant version of myself babbled, looking towards the camera operator. Little me clung to a couch cushion, wobbly legs supporting her tiny body.

"Come here, Sofia," Mami coaxed, the camera shot now entirely focused on my younger self.

The first step was uncertain, knees bending and straightening in a test of strength. Then one foot settled before the other, repeated again and again until 'I' grabbed hold of Mami's extended fingers. My mothers' cheers erupted from the television speakers, tiny, toothless, beaming baby smiling through the screen at me.

"Did you eat anything?" Mami asks as she enters the apartment, the door closing behind her with a startling bang.

I pause the video and lean over the back of the couch to look at her. "No," I confess, "I couldn't think of anything that would be enjoyable to relive."

She laughs in spite of herself, wandering over to set a brown paper bag - an image that sends me whirling back to the hospital cafeteria - on the coffee table. "Chicken noodle," she says before collapsing onto the cushions at my feet. "What are you watching?"

"My first steps," I say, colour rushing to my cheeks.

"Nice choice," she smiles, taking the remote from my hands, "But nothing tops the first potty video."

Instead of blushing furiously, as I always do when that awful - and filmed - memory is mentioned, I look at Mami sadly. "Do you ever wish I had never grown up?" I whisper.

She looks to me and, not for the first time, I feel as though I'm looking in a mirror. A much older, more certain mirror, but still a reflection I hope to emulate.

"Always," she answers softly, "I miss having our tiny little person climbing into our bed on Sunday morning. But I'd miss talking to you, if I went back in time now. I love the beautiful young woman you've turned out to be, just as much as I loved the beautiful little girl you were."

I crawl across the distance between us and into her arms, subconsciously thankful for the prematurity that, even at fifteen, has kept me small enough to fit in her lap. "I don't want to be responsible. I don't want to go to school and start over. I just want to stay a kid, right here with you and Momma taking care of me."

She kisses my head, gently voicing her understanding but, unfortunately, not her agreement.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: **I know. It's been a year. I left this piece completely unresolved, and that was never fair. I've received a lot of messages - most nice, but many very unkind - about the ending of this story.

I never thought this piece through, I just wrote. There was no planning. I was barely out of high school when I started this, I had no understanding of this disease beyond watching a classmate go through treatment for the better part of our grade 12 year. It was horrible to watch, and I began this story as a way to cope.

That being said, this got more fantastical the more I worked on it. I grew to hate it. Every idea I had felt stupid, and it just kept taking Sofia through these horrible circumstances over and over again. I don't want to believe that life is like that.

I come back to this a year later with a conclusion, pieced together from what I did like of what I created, and one I hope we all deserve from this life. We should never, ever give up, no matter the circumstances.

Thank you for taking this journey with me. Let's keep living.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER ELEVEN<strong>

The nightmares return with a vengeance. Darkened operating rooms, rusted scalpels, looks of fear on all the faces that I know and love. I whimper in my sleep, tossing and turning in my big, comfy bed. I still hear the scratch of plastic sheets, the beeps of machines, the itch beneath my skin of an IV. I wake up heaving more often than not, crying out for someone. Anyone.

Cory visits after a week, tugging at my hands limply in an effort to rouse me from my blankets. "Let's go cause trouble," she pleads. We used to borrow my momma's heelies, used to sneak into the morgue at the hospital, pretended we were paparazzi. Childish, all of it.

I don't know how I relate anymore.

"I love you, Cory," I swear, closing my eyes tighter. "I hope you know that."

"I love you, too," she whispers, giving in and climbing into the bed beside me. She curls around me, grasping my hands between us. "What's so scary?" she asks.

Everything.

"I thought it was supposed to be scarier in the hospital. With the cancer and the chemo and the surgeries..."

"Me too," I answer. "But that was what I had to do. I had to do all of that."

She shakes her head. "This is what you have to do. Living is what all of that was for. You have to live, Sofia. You have to."

I open my eyes slowly, shuffling my head backwards on the pillow so I can really look at her. Her bright green eyes are brimming with tears.

"I don't want to live without you," she murmurs.

* * *

><p>That night, I wake up coughing, struggling for breath. It hurts deep inside me, ripping apart my chest in its fury. I gasp for air I can't seem to find, my head getting heavier with every second.<p>

My momma rushes to my side, her voice soothing, but I can't seem to make out her face with the pressure behind my eyes. My room blurs, growing dark and twisting around me.

I cough even more, falling.

From reality.

From consciousness.

"Steroids!" someone yells, their voice faraway.

I don't want to be a body builder.

"Chest infection?"

Mami? Momma?

* * *

><p>"Oh, Sofia," she whispered, stroking my face, "You look just like your mami."<p>

"Why don't I look like you, Momma?" I asked, voice thick with the innocent sound of childhood.

"Well, Mami and Daddy got to make the outside of you, and I get to help make what's inside of you."

"Like love?"

"Yea, like love."

"That's what I feel when I look at you, Momma. Like someone's blowing bubbles in my chest. Is that you, inside me?"

"Always, baby girl."

* * *

><p>I can hear my father yelling, somewhere far away. Past the hums of... a machine? The walls feel tight around me. Maybe a CT, taking pictures of my insides.<p>

"A week... Didn't think?"

"...Not helping!"

"...You are?"

"Steroids... Lungs recover..."

"...Wake up?"

* * *

><p>"Mami?" That tiny, little voice again. My voice, years ago.<p>

"You're supposed to be sleeping, Baby, it's late." She sat down on the edge of my bed, adjusting my covers around me.

"I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

"Do you think about me, when you're fixing bones?"

"All the time."

"What do you think about?"

"Hmmm..." she thought for a moment. "Your beautiful, big brown eyes and how I love it when you smile. I think about whether you're being good or not. How much I love you, and how I can't wait to see you when I get home."

"I love you, Mami."

"How much?"

"As much as the sky."

"I love you as much as the universe, Sofia."

* * *

><p>"Please, Sofia," someone whispers against my cheek, their breath warm. My hand is warm, too, like it's being held. "I know it's hard, but please just open your eyes. I want to see your beautiful eyes."<p>

Another voice joins in. Mami? "I love you, Sofia." As much as the sky. As much as the universe. "Please open your eyes. I know this is hard. It's scary, all of this. But it's almost over."

Lips meet my cheek, fluttering my eyes. Sounds begin at the back of my throat, trying to make words but just coming out as groans.

"Sofia?"

"How much?" I finally manage, my throat aching with the effort. "Do you love me?"

"As much as the universe," Mami laughs, Momma peppering kisses all across my face. "We love you as much as the universe."

* * *

><p>I walk into school a month later, fully recovered and holding tight to my best friend's hand. My hair has grown quickly, now a dark brown - almost - pixie cut. People exclaim loudly, amazed to see me. Excited. Outgoing. Kids.<p>

I've chosen to be a kid again. Cancer, however loudly it has echoed in my life, will not steal my childhood. I've chosen to be stupid, to make mistakes. To keep on living. It's not supposed to be the scary part.

I won't let anyone have to live without me; not when I don't want to live without them.

Cory talks excitedly about dances, about spending our next Summer camping and swimming and wreaking havoc on the neighbourhood. I'm a year and a half behind her in my education, but it doesn't seem like such a burden anymore. I know I'm smart enough. I know I have support: amazing, remarkable people willing to help me move past all of this. I'll be sixteen soon.

And sure, maybe I was given a death sentence at fourteen, but I'm alive. I fought. I'm stronger than any disease. Stronger than a near fatal chest infection - an infection that was the kick in the ass I needed to keep going. To never give up.

In two months, I'll return to the hospital. It's not the place I grew up anymore, full of laughter and happiness. But it's not a monster, either. I can still see the cancer brooding beneath the surface of the bricks, lurking through the oncology ward, but in two months it'll be the start of my new life.

In two months, a doctor will tell us that the cancer is gone. That we won the fight.

That we can go on living.

I can't wait.


End file.
